


Empty Rooms

by Sirca



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Jaina Proudmoore deserves better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 02:18:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7872016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirca/pseuds/Sirca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her dreams were given thought, shape, and she found herself unable to tear away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty Rooms

In the twilight between waking and sleep, Jaina allowed her mind to finally wander. It focused on the same series of images that had frequented her for years. Her dreams were given thought, shape, and she found herself unable to tear away.

A book was in her hands when the child crawled into her lap. Immediately, she recognized him as her son. If she admitted it to herself, the boy looked more like Anduin than either she or his father. But her mind didn’t linger. She would not take away from this moment.

He wrapped his small arms around her and she pressed a soft kiss to his temple. He wanted to sit with her while she read. Perhaps she would someday teach him what the words meant. For now, he was satisfied just to hear the smooth cant of her voice until he fell asleep.

Her mind shifted, bent, and she walked with her son’s small hand pressed within her own. Another child leapt and grabbed the other. A daughter. Jaina allowed herself to smile—she looked like her. She would tell them all the stories that she had been told when she was a girl. She would walk with them until they grew too tired, and would have to turn back. They would play, they would be loved, and they would have the childhood that they deserved. She was so very proud of them.

Sometimes a father’s strong arms would come into view. Her mind shied away from the blonde hair, the curve of full lips, and she continued her fantasy by glossing over the pain. The children gathered around her, and she was there to sing a soft, happy song that she had not heard in years.

Thunder sounded like a drum of war in the distance. Both of the children would climb into bed with her, snuggling beneath the thick covers. The girl pressed tightly against her, while the boy peered at the windows with wide, scared eyes. She would soothe them, trailing her fingers through their hair. It’s just thunder, she would say. The sound of it will not hurt you.

But it came again, louder this time. The grip on her children faded. She woke, alone, in her bed. As she always does.

The window she’d forgot to close last night was the source of her disturbance. She rose, a woman who felt the years more keenly than they showed, even in the white of her hair. The window slammed close with a flick of her wrist.

The thunder wouldn’t hurt her, that much was true, but the phantom impress of small hands and empty rooms might.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a fit of Jaina love and despair over where her character arc has been taking here. Here's to hoping that Jaina turns it all around, and possibly mend bridges with Anduin. Any mistakes made here are purely my own.


End file.
